


Vyvyan vs The Angry Mob

by frankenbolt



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Angst, Dead Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23044765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenbolt/pseuds/frankenbolt
Summary: Song fic.Vyvyan picks a fight.
Relationships: Vyvyan Basterd/Rick (Young Ones)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Vyvyan vs The Angry Mob

**Author's Note:**

> Best enjoyed with World Inferno Friendship Society's "Me V. The Angry Mob" on repeat.
> 
> _"Oh, like you've never been in a fight before,  
>  Like you never caused a scene-  
> Anyway shut up, Scott, you're not even really here..."_

“Well I HOPE you’re happy, young man! This is another franky bizzare and thankless situation you’ve gotten us in!”

Vyvyan grits his teeth against the triple impact of freezing cold air hitting his over imbibed system, the quickly saturated taste of copper hitting the back of his mouth, and the rush of unwanted emotions bubbling up.

Now is not the time to get all girly and snot faced however, as there are half a dozen hippo sized brutes trying to push their way out of the pub to get at Vyvyan on the other side of the door. Grunting with effort, Vyvyan is only just managing to keep the doors closed.

“You could help you know.” Vyvyan snarls at the voice issuing from behind him. Spotty bastard never could take a decent fight.

Unless it was between the two of them.

There’s a scoff of distain, but before either of them can reply, a meaty fist is punched through the glass of the pub door.

“Jesus!” There’s genuine fear now, trembling. “What on earth did you say to make them so bloody angry, Vyv?”

Vyvyan is already pulling at a length of pipe, rusty and bent with age, from the side of the pub, and slams it in between the door handles, bending it upwards in a display of typically cartoon violence the Punk has been know to use in the past.

Recently, however, these feats of strength have been less and less frequent.

“Oh like you never caused a bloody scene! How do you know it wasn’t your stupid, ugly, face that made them so pissed off!” The Punk spits, checking his handy work before his boots slip in the slush as he whirls around to face…

“Oh. That’s right. You’re not...really here.”

The nausea bites at his throat and he gobs a mouthful of blood into the snow, dazed by this sudden realization gripping him that he’s been alone this entire time, carrying on a conversation with himself.

A roar of rage and the creak of the metal pipe groaning under the mob’s force against the door snaps Vyvyan back into action and he picks a direction to start running.

“That’s right SPAZZY!” The voice is back, out of breath seemingly from keeping pace with him. “There’s a great big gang of them back there ready to rip into us! There’s no time for mental breakdowns now--”

“Shut up.” Vyvyan tries to focus, the snow falling into his eyes. That must be why it's so hard to see. Of course it must. His boots slide against the pavement as he makes a sharp turn down an alleyway. There’s a series of doors, some propped open to let the heavy steam of various restaurant kitchens out into the frigid night air. Without pausing, the punk shoulder checks some busboy on his smoke break out of the way and proceeds to storm through the kitchen, the yells of the mob still thick at his back.

The slick of the now melting snow in the crowded and bustling kitchen nearly makes him run head first into a boiling pot of soup, and he narrowly avoids being skewered by the sou chef as he slides across the tile floor towards the restaurant proper.

“Trust you to only ever take me somewhere nice when we’re running for our lives!” Comes the snotty voice again, sneering as Vyvyan knocks some poor kid’s birthday cake out of a waiter’s hands in his haste to get through the throng of tables. 

“If you have a goddamn better idea, I’m all ears!” Vyvyan snarls to no-one. The patrons are watching in fear as he hurdle jumps a table and knocks out the host. This wild-eyed young man, his hair falling limply into his eyes, streams of orange dye running across a bloodied face, shouting at no-one, even as a louder raucous noise comes from the kitchen, as the mob tries to get closer to him.

“If you were all ears you’d need an awful lot of hearing aides to make up for the fact YOU DIDN’T LISTEN WHEN I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUNCH THAT GUY.” The voice screams in his head as he bursts out of the front door, belting across the road (two cars screech to a halt and their horns add to the cacophony blaring in the punk’s head.

“Rubbish idea if I’d ever heard one.” Vyvyan grins through the pain, rushing into yet another alleyway. This one careens into an over built up and claustrophobic series of back passages between several streets of terraced houses. Trash is frozen into the squalid and broken pathways, crunching beneath his boots as he keeps running. 

Until he hits a chain link fence. Linking his now purpling fingers into the metal, he shakes it, as if that’ll help. The alleyways only amplify the noise of the mob, and Vyvyan can’t be sure which direction they’re coming from now. He’s been through worse than a beating, he reminds himself grimly. Maybe he can take some of them down before they kill him.

“Get up over that wall and get onto the roof.” The voice snaps. Vyvyan wearily turns his head to the left, and sure enough, there’s a treaded wall leading upwards. With a decent jump up he could make it onto the roof of one of these houses and keep going.  


“Well?!” The voice demands. Vyvyan can feel the cold seeping beneath his thin t-shirt now, his heart rate slowing and the sweat licking down his back beginning to rapidly cool and make him shiver. The nausea from before is back and biting at his throat, and he can feel the throb of his heart beat in the missing tooth in his jaw. He lets his head rest against the chain link fence, wincing at the feeling of one of his forehead piercings clinking against the cold metal.

He’s tired. He’s tired of pretending. He glances upwards at the windows overlooking the alley and to his shock a small girl is watching him, clutching a stuffed rabbit. He waves and the curtains close quickly.

“I’m...getting sick of this, Rick.” Vyvyan mutters, the fatigue starting to inch into his legs. He stomps his boots to get some of the feeling back into them. “I’m getting too old and...there’s just gotta be a better way of doing this.”

Vyvyan can feel Rick’s expression. He can’t bring himself to imagine it. The snow is falling heavier now and that has to be why his vision is blurring this badly. He scrubs hard at his eyes.

Rick sighs and softly he says. “You’re better than them. You’re worth ten of them. There’s never been a time when brains has not won over brawn, and you’re a friggin’ doctor, Vyv! Those louts probably didn’t get a single O Level.” He sniffs. “You’re above them. Which is why you have to keep moving. The world needs you.” There’s a steeling in the voice. “So get your fat bottom up that wall and run!”

“You’re not even really here.”

“We all do what we can, when we can, Vyv.”

Vyvyan pushes away from the fence and after slapping himself in the face, he climbs the wall and up onto the roof (the small girl from earlier grins and gives him the thumbs up as he scrabbles past).

“Get home safely, now.”

I will, I do, I always do. Vyvyan promises. “I miss you, you bastard.”

The snow lands thick and crisp over the rooftops, making it easier to grip and muffle his footsteps.

He’ll have to ice his jaw when he gets home.

**Author's Note:**

> _""Get home safely, now..."  
>  I will, I do, I always do.  
> "I miss you, you bastard."_
> 
> _"There has never been a time,  
>  When brains have not won over brawn,  
> We will live to see the dawn!"  
> "And Scott you're still not really here"  
> "We all do what we can where we can, Pete""_
> 
> Not usually in the habit of writing angst, but I had a bad day and this song always struck me as a Vyvyan/Rick song.


End file.
